Ode to Bay’ah and Joy – Abdussalaam Nordenhök

december 4, 2011 En kommentar »
Ode to Bay’ah and Joy –  Abdussalaam Nordenhök

A tribute written to Shaykh Dr Abdalqadir as-Sufi

Author: Hajj Abdussalaam Nordenhök

 ***

A few men from Viking’s land, none of them a king.
Poor men’s journey to hear the Darqawa sing.

Welcomed by the People of the Interim.
Relax your mind and learn to swim.

Four men from far travelling with a wish.
The Knight’s Table hosting a generous dish.

The Circle dancing, breathing wild.
In the Presence of The Mild.

The West takes on the Darqawi way
In East Anglia the circles of Hadrah sway.

The Doctor demands from us the heart of a child.
He who found us with our hearts clogged and tiled.

Given crumbs from the feast table of ibn al-Habib – the Seal.
For our hearts to expand, enlargen and heal.

Awakening to The Real.
Indeed the crumbs – a majestic meal.

The Sufi Doctor of Futuwwah.
Who stayed loyal to Nubuwwah.

The slave of al-Qadir, the Caledonian Scot.
By you the Bastille engulfs Evil to rot.


You, the bandage on the wound of the last decade.
By your alchemy all that is other than Allah slowly fade.

The travelling of the sâlik is your career.
Arrival by you the sincere draw near.

O You opener of a new frontier.
The men of Ribat to you adhere.

O You Ghazi of thought.
His face you always sought.

Noble behaviour is what you ever taught.
Across continents decreed to have fought.

Subtle guidance by your healing prose.
Book of Strangers our Doctor’s diagnose.

Between you and your people no two unstrung bows.
Solitary warriors line up in rows.

Your arrow precisely aimed and shot .
Splitting the impossible Gordian Knot.

Your face’s warmth is the zakat of my inner being.
You, the conductor with Mozart’s inner seeing.

As the rod of Moses led his people to the oasis.
Your conductor stick guiding your people to our Root and basis.

You who taught us to see through the mist.
On birr from within you always insist.

You who warned us from turning humanist.
Rather being human – this is the gist!

The hand of the sober surgeon we took.
By the love of Sunnah and the Book.

Upon the new Silk Road of Trade we look.
Renaissance of mahabbah our brethren cook.

In pouring rain of modernity.
To old man’s sanity we agree to flee.

White dove flying out to the Mountain’s tree.
Returning with branch for all to see.

Your steady ship on stormy sea.
In windy times ship brought to lee.

Gathered around the gentle patriarch.
Fuqara enroll as sailors on his ark.

The love is the ship of the elect.
The surface of love’s ocean you reflect.

The Doctor of Intoxication and his sensation.
Embracing annihilation by his station.

Demos Kratos in men a planted want.
Secularism’s most sacral font.

Planted in a naïve soil and mould.
Obeying nobility is the native seed of fitrah untold.

Declaring the parameter of old, the coin of Gold.
None but you as courageous and bold.

The Cauldron of the Banker.
Burdened debtor’s rancour.

The brew of riba they stir.
Its foul smell cannot be hidden by myrrh.

For uttering a taboo Ezra Pound wrapped in chains.
Woe to them as only Allah remains.

O Usura, you reek, luring at the weak.
To the roaring Lion of Khidmah for protection we seek.

The phasade of free man’s vote.
Each man bows head before banker’s note.

The Doctor who came running in burnus coat.
Warning his people with Quranic quote.

The fog of freedom hiding a horrendous lie.
To the choked sound of debtor’s cry.

In the brave new world one cannot buy.
The laughing Lion who roars so high.

Demos Kratos – a rather rotten fruit.
Herd stupidity of the mute.

Take counsel from the strings of the Moroccan lute.
Singing out the story of the Garden’s route.

Listen and take in the Mathnawi flute.
Rumi’s truth telling your own biography direct and brute.

First step of Hundred the traveller’s seed.
Take heed of the song of the Reed and make it deed!

Nothing but gratitude he can offer, this poor Swede.
By your carafe’s pouring he was freed.

By the utter soundness of your creed.
For your acceptance these fuqara now plead.

Attachment to you in utter need.
Awliya’s right to intercede.

Obeying you is a flower.
By your hand we will once again gain power.

You taught us to be true to our heritage and ourselves.
When the Qur’an had been stranded on our walls and shelves.

I reached you by the Slave of Truth.
The two old men with hearts of brave youth.

The glance from either two is like the glance of one.
Like inheritance passing from father to son.

The ’Arif is he who already won.
The sirr not seen by many nor none.

The two men, our Khandaq, our trench.
The people of covering up you boldly drench

Our two white-bearded Spartans, enemies of Athens they are.
One stayed, the other went to a continent so far.

Zulu spear as sutrah in the ground.
Way out of affliction you expound.

Planting the flag of Tawhid in new territory.
Concern for the poor is your glory.

Sharp blade of Damocles aimed at tyrant’s neck.
The elected ruler nothing other than Aztek.

By your scribbling pen.
You expose the thief’s den.

From the shackles of Pharaoh you protect free men.
The man from the highlands he found us a glen.

Man-god or god-man, who knows?
Highland wisdom since forty years steady flows.

You unsheathe the golden sword.
In renewing endeavor for your Lord.

Now you have loyals from the land of the fjord.
Viking honour perhaps restored.

The mead from drinking horn poured.
The berserks of old in their graves roared.

Kings of old went first in row to fight.
Raising sword arm for you a delight.

By teaching us fitrah you renewed our light.
Norsemen by sunnah raised up to a new height.

By the Fayturian insight.
By the Lord of all Might.

By the Habibian cloak.
By the sufiyyah, the true Folk.

By the wool of Meknes.
By your testimony in Fes.

By the Khaldunian view.
By your clarity as morning dew.

By your life in action.
By your Path, your life’s transaction.

By you we graze in meadows of hope.
By you men grasp out for Allah’s rope.

By you we take on the angelic choice.
By your instruction in vibrant voice.

Now an Elder with Garden in range.
O Allah, keep me in change.

Text became action and action became text.
Word and hand in Madani context.

The knower is a lover and the lover a knower.
Cultivating the inner soil, passion of the grower.

O decadent City, prepare for Bedouin influx.
You will fall as in all other epochs.

For understanding on Ibn Khaldun we depend.
The Qadi’s hertitage you bravely defend.

The Sufi lent from ’Attar’s scent.
By your perfume’s tent the bedouins repent.

In constant search for the Meaning of Man.
Universal dance beyond kin and clan.

Darqawian malâmita only the wise detect.
The frowned upon thus in reality the elect.

Woe to those in search of fault.
No gaze penetrates mumin’s vault.

Solitude, the breath of a free, light, playful air .
Darqawa assembled and before you swear.

Our Noble faqirat like an Arabian mare.
Each one for you a child and heir.

Cloak of concern for them you wear.
More merciful than mother’s care.

Queenlier than the daughters fair.
Daugthers three of old King Lear.

Chivalry learnt by prose of Shakespeare.
Darqawian knights no spear they fear.

Noble men of the Ribat they dare.
Out to fight from Lion’s lair.

Unknown to them, fear and despair.
Community built in the Social sphere.

Eliminated the marks of selfhood, gone beyond.
Scooping from the Shadhili Masters pond.

O Doctor, the echo of your words :
You want Allah? Sell yourself first!
By the stillness of your fountain, I clench my thirst.

Sung out by Fayturian hawk.
”Do not be content with talk”.

”Embark immediately on action”.
Embrace the law of Muhammad without subtraction.

The age of republics is over. The age of princes has begun.
Before you, O Doctor, this ode was sung.

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